


"How to Date" by Sherlock Holmes

by TheBobblehat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Love, M/M, Romance, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:58:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBobblehat/pseuds/TheBobblehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After days of working on a case, John suggests that Sherlock take a break for a lunch date. Unfortunately, in the world of Sherlock Holmes, even dates can some how link to murder...</p><p>~~~~</p><p>An old role play that I polished up and added a little smut to near the end. Once again, this is a gift for Science of Johnlock, who was feeling a bit down. I hope this cheers you up~!</p><p>Co-Written with Amaranta C, who for a time was my wonderful John Watson</p>
            </blockquote>





	"How to Date" by Sherlock Holmes

John rubbed a towel against his head and tied his dressing gown around him as he walked out of the shower. They had been out on a case all last night and now that they had finally had some down time the doctor had taken the chance to clean up. Making his way into the kitchen he saw Sherlock in the exact same position that he had been in since they had gotten back last night. John couldn't even be sure that the man had slept. His clothes weren't changed and there were shadows under his eyes. This particular case had been bothering him more than usual. A string of 4 murders, all in different sections of London, and no connections noticed yet. All the victims died of an unknown poison that caused asphyxiation but were hung shortly after, to make the appearance of suicide.

 

Striding over to where the detective sat still immersed in his work, he studied him quietly. Sherlock didn't even look from his microscope as John took the still full cup of tea and set in in the sink. "Any luck?" he finally asked. Leaning back against the counter, he watched Sherlock completely ignore him. At one point that might have bothered him, but now he understood that it was just how the man worked. After about a minute of silence, he walked over to Sherlock and pressed a kiss into the top of his head.

 

"You can't just sit here and work forever." He tilted and kissed the detective's jawline, trying to coax him to respond. "Why don't we go out?" he finally mumbled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders.

 

"Hm?" Finally, a verbal response was had from the focused man, though not much of one. Still struggling to keep his eyes focused down the lenses of his microscope, he tightened the nozzle a little. "Sorry, what was that you were saying, John?"

 

Standing, Sherlock made his way to a small stack of books and began to flip through the top one. "Shouldn't you be in bed? It's late." He'd been so focused that the man didn't even notice the morning birds outside their bright window. For all he prided himself on as far as deduction was concerned, there were quite a few things Sherlock seemed to miss in life.

 

After locating the page he needed, Sherlock kept it open before reaching into a box filled with petrie dishes. He swapped out his current one for a new and once more took his statue position behind the scope. "Now what was it you wanted?"

 

Chuckling, John moved back to lean against the doorframe. "I did go to bed. And about 2 hours ago I woke up. Sherlock, have you even stopped to check the time?" He was almost positive that the man hadn't stopped to even use the bathroom or eat. Sherlock had developed tunnel vision and could only see the case. That was acceptable in some cases, when the case only lasted about a day. But this one had been going on for two now and there was little in the way of leads.

 

He let Sherlock continue working until the man physically had to pause to breathe. "I was just saying that you shouldn't stay in here all day until the night and repeat the schedule all over again." he began. Chewing on his lip awkwardly he moved to go sit in the chair across from Sherlock. "Maybe you could take a break and we could go out or something." He waited a couple of moments for Sherlock to respond and got none. John sighed and waved a hand in front of the detective's field of vision. "You need to take a break." he repeated.

 

Sherlock, finally blinking from his daze of work, stared at John. Nearly looking confused, he checked his watch and realized that it was indeed five passed ten in the morning. "Oh." He scratched his temple before letting himself yawn. Probably the first of the entire evening. "I suppose I have been working quite a while...  
  
"Still, I don't think I'll be at a stopping point any time soon." Flipping open his laptop, he typed with one hand while adjusting the lenses of his microscope with his other. "I studied the poison our dear cabbie used all that time ago as these victims suffer the same symptoms. Unfortunately, I can't find too many similarities in the chemical compounds of both. Just like our cab victims, none of them are connected, and so I've been also studying any common general labor workers would have come into contact with them recently. One had a cable man visit her flat the day before her murder, but that's about all. One of them was a complete shut in, did his work from home, none of them even went to the same restaurants. But there's _got_ to be a link in here somewhere, there simply _must._ "

 

"Incredible." John eventually murmured in awe. Shaking his head, he caught himself before he encouraged Sherlock to continue further. He knew if he got the detective started, then it probably would never end, unless someone physically stepped in and kept him away from the case until he slept and ate. John had had to do that once before and he really didn't need a repetition of that.  
  
"And..." he continued as he stood up and casually shut the computer. "All that information and the whole bloody case with be there in the morning. You won't be though if you keep pushing yourself like this." He walked around the table and pulled Sherlock's chair as well as him away from the microscope. "Maybe if you cleared your head, you could come back to it and see something else, hmm?" he tried to sound convincing, but they both realized that Sherlock hardly missed something when it came to cases. Sighing, he tousled the man's hair and leaned over to kiss the spot just below his ear. "Alright, I'll pull the doctor card if I have to. You haven't slept for almost 48 hours if I remember correctly. How about you go to sleep and then later on tonight we can go out? I know you think you can just put off living until a case is solved, but it doesn't exactly work like that."

 

Sherlock sucked in air through his nose, rolling his eyes to John in an impatient manner. After a moment, however, the good doctor managed to talk at least a little sense into the man. Face softening, Sherlock rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "You're the relentless sort, you know that...?" Well, all that John said was true. As much as Sherlock liked to power through a case, his sensory receptors did deteriorate after a certain time frame of missing proper REM sleep. Raising his hand, he rubbed his shoulder, feeling a few vertebra pop against his back. "Still... you are the doctor, doctor... Fine. A bit of fresh air should do the trick. After which, I'll come home, finish my work and get a good night's sleep." Or at least a couple of hours. Then it would be back to work. But only after John was fast asleep himself and Sherlock had the opportunity to sneak away. "Does that sound reasonable?"

 

John did his best to suppress a triumphant smirk. Sherlock would eventually run back to his work, and he knew that, but at least if he got a couple hours of sleep and an actual day out then it was considered an accomplishment. He was beginning to find that one of the small differences of them being in an established relationship was more leverage in arguments and getting Sherlock to do things that he wouldn't particularly do. Chuckling, he leaned forward again and twisted the chair around so he could press a kiss to the detective's lips.

 

"Perfectly reasonable. I am going to make sure you sleep a good while though, so don't think you can get away with sneaking out of the bedroom once I'm asleep." The threat sounded empty, with John not being able to sound stern and aware that he was much too deep of a sleeper to stop Sherlock once he was out. "Do you have anywhere in particular you'd like to go out to?" he asked lightly, pulling away to rest his back against the kitchen wall. "I suggest going somewhere to eat since you probably haven't eaten in the past day and once we actually leave the flat it will be time for lunch."Looking over, he caught Sherlock's confused look. "You're going to want to clean up before we go." There were bags under the man's eyes and a fine layer of dust was settled on his hair and clothes. John smiled and reached out to twist one of Sherlock's curls back into place. "You look like hell." he explained.

 

Frowning, Sherlock glanced at himself in the reflection of a spoon. "I don't look any different than normal..." Did that mean he always looked like hell? Letting that slide, the detective pocketed his phone and a small hand book of cataloged poisons. He'd go out, but no reason why he couldn't do a little research on the side. Oh lord, John would make him eat, wouldn't he? Eh... Sherlock would do what he could to appease the man. Did tea and a biscuit count as eating?

 

Honestly, had they been in this situation years ago, Sherlock wouldn't have budged, even if they had been sleeping together. Digestion slowed Sherlock's thought process to a crawl. But when Sherlock returned for good, having spent countless days upon days of homelessness - of laying on the cold ground, of spending sleepless nights in paranoia and fear - coming back to John waiting for him was a godsend. That first night returning for real, Sherlock actually cried when John was asleep. Silent and tender, he held John against his chest and wept sweetly into his hair, so glad that John was indeed a heavy sleeper. Now that he had experienced that extent of loss and longing, Sherlock made a note of never wanting to feel that again. And so, he was compelled to try and appease John when he could. At least, to the extent of his power.

 

Changing his shirt, he grabbed his coat and the two headed down to the cafe beneath their flat. At least they'd be able to stay as close as possible to 221B. That way, Sherlock could immediately return to work once John gave the OK. Sitting against the back wall, Sherlock flipped through his phone before setting it aside. "Will half an hour be long enough for you?"

 

Rolling his eyes, John leaned back in his chair and looked at the detective. "A timer on our date? How romantic." he replied. Somehow, he didn't expect Sherlock to do anything less than that, but it didn't mean it was pleasurable. It was actually comforting to know that Sherlock had changed so little. He had fallen in love with the Sherlock that was insufferable and needy, but still honest and caring when it came down to it. Yes, there were days that John complained about the man when he found a cadaver lying on top of the food in the fridge, but that meant little in the way of their relationship.

 

"Look, I don't want you to stay here because you're being forced to." he began, running a hand through his hair. "Once you're done eating, if you really feel the need to keep messing with the case, then you can run back up there I suppose..." he trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his statement. Obviously he didn't want Sherlock to go back upstairs and obsess over his work once more, but he did understand it was in his nature to do so. His main goal was simply to make sure that he didn't forget to do the basic things like eating and sleeping. So as long as those two things were accomplished then he couldn't really make the man do much of the rest.

 

John looked up to see if Sherlock had even heard half of what he said but was instead greeted by a young woman striding over to their table. "Hello, are you two ready to order quite yet?" she greeted, brushing the hair out of her face and pulling out her writing pad.

 

Shrugging, John glanced at the menu quickly. "I'll just have the Grilled Chicken Sandwich, thanks."

 

The woman nodded and scratched something down before looking over at Sherlock. "And you?"

 

"Pasta I suppose..." Something easy he could pick at, at least. Handing the girl back their menus, Sherlock leaned against his chair with a sigh, hands folded in his lap. "Well if I was acting on how I personally felt I never would have left the flat." Alright, that might have been a little calloused, but Sherlock hadn't changed _that_ much. The fact that he was there at all was enough of a change. Taking his phone he once more began to thumb through it. Namely, the four mugshots of each victim's body. Jeffrey Clemens, Tess Rika, Daniel Kantor and Maurice Brughah. Four complete strangers with completely different backgrounds, all leading completely different lives, all killed exactly the same way. Sherlock had spent the last eight hours trying to match the poison at least a little bit to their cabbie's method, but there was very little that suggested this was a copycat. Figuring such an attempt was a lost cause, Sherlock went back again to the victims themselves, trying to see a link.

 

"Damn..." Leaning back, Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table. "Four strangers. Four completely different people. Different races, backgrounds, livelihoods... Something must connect them, it just _must_." A little frustrated now, Sherlock set his phone aside rather harshly and pushed the palms of his hands hard against his eyeballs. "Damn, damn... _damn_. Ugh!" He turned to John, his leg now bouncing. Well it didn't take long for him to get antsy, did it? On top of that, Sherlock checked the time. Only a minute had passed. Twenty nine to go.

 

Chewing on his bottom lip, John thought for a moment before plucking Sherlock's phone out of his hands. "Let me look at the people again." Sherlock was too busy racking his brain to really notice. Scrolling through the pictures, he studied the pictures carefully. There wasn't much they had in common. Something caught his eye though- Jeffery Clemens. His eyes looked strange. John tapped at the phone until it enlarged and he could focus on it better. A blue ring around the iris. Contacts, then. Nothing out of the ordinary. Moving through the pictures once more, it suddenly clicked. Daniel and Maurice were both wearing glasses and he was almost positive that Tess was one to wear glasses as well. Pressure marks on the bridge of her nose, she might have just taken them off for the picture. This must be what Sherlock felt when things began to piece themselves together before him.

 

"You said that the poison was related to that of the cabbie, but not exact. What if the murderer had changed those compounds to work in a different substance. Not pills, eye-drops perhaps?" he asked, his head snapping up. It was just a thought, but it was one of the only things they all had in common. And even if it was what was actually connecting and killing these people, they still had no clue as to where they were getting their eye-drops from. Bouncing his foot, he slid the phone across the table to Sherlock. "Jeffery has contacts, Daniel and Maurice wear glasses and I'm practically certain that Tess does as well." he explained.

 

Sherlock's brows rose a bit, blinking in curiosity. "Eyedrops. Ah... That seems to be a perfectly sound analysis. It links the four victims and is a reasonable point of entry for the poison, albeit a strange one.  
  
"Too bad it's wrong." Taking his phone back, he went through the four again. "Only two out of the four wear contacts, one of them doesn't even own an eye dropper. The ones that do use different brands. Good show, John, but I assure you I looked into every aspect of their life. Absolutely nothing matches on all four terms." Sighing, he set the phone aside. "There is just absolutely _nothing_ that links..."  
  
That's when it hit him. Suddenly and soundly. Sherlock's wide eyes lifted from his phone to his flatmate turned lover, his mouth opening slowly. "Oh... _ooooohhhhhhh_...." He breathed, his fingertips touching. "Oh! Oh brilliant! Brilliant, absolutely _novel!_ "

 

John huffed in annoyance after being cut down so quickly. Yet again, it was unsurprising. He had picked up some things from the detective, but he was far from actually being able to make his own observations. He was about to snap a response before Sherlock's eyes lit up. It was a look he recognized all to well. The detective was back on the case, only being able to focus on that. The date was obviously going to be cut short, they hadn't even eaten yet.

 

Without a moment's hesitation, he slammed his hand on the top of the table before jumping to his feet. "Sorry John, we'll have to continue the date on the go. Come along." Quick in stride, Sherlock nearly sprinted from the cafe, putting on his coat and scarf along the way. "Why didn't I think of it before? Oh it's _marvelous!_ Ha!" They got onto the street and Sherlock waved for a cab. As one pulled up, the two got in, Sherlock's excitement having yet to subside. "Gods this is so brilliant I could-! Oh John!" Without warning, he took John's face and gave him a big, fat kiss. The cabbie cleared his throat, awkwardly looking away from his mirror.  
  
"Where to, mate?"  
  
"Magistrate's court, central London. And make it quick!" Sherlock pulled up his phone, quickly finding the number he needed. "Time to call in a favor..."

 

Sliding into his jacket, John ran to catch up with Sherlock. Once they slipped into the cab, he had barely gotten a chance to take a breath before the detective spun to kiss him. It took him by surprise, but he was all too willing to oblige. Finally breaking away, John rested his back against his seat. They had been moving so fast and so suddenly that he hadn't had a chance to even figure out what they were doing. Less than a minute ago he had been waiting for his sandwich and now they were headed to a court. Turning to his partner, he scratched his eyebrow in confusion. "Would you like to explain what's so bloody brilliant?"

 

Sherlock laughed to himself. "Come now, try to make a deduction, John. What do twelve complete and utter strangers have in common- Yes, hello, I'd like to speak to Public Attorney Lloyd Candor. Please explain to him that he has a very urgent situation on the line. I don't care what meeting he's in this is of grand importance- Sherlock Holmes... What do you mean 'who'? Do you keep up with the times at all or are you simply under a rock when you're not servicing Judge Henderson under his desk-? Madam, I dare because this is a matter of a crucial nature. Fine, I'll wait." Sighing, he put his fingers over the receiver of the phone before turning to John.  
  
"Twelve strangers, never having gotten in contact with one another. No shared political views, no shared interests, no common life styles. Four of them are dead now, but mark my words there are eight more victims on their way." Blinking, Sherlock lifted his head and removed his hand. "Mr. Candor. Sherlock Holmes. Have I...? Well whether or not I've made your secretary cry is irrelevant. Do you remember two years ago this October? Yes, I'm sure you do. Well, you told me that if I ever needed anything, I'd come to you. I need to take you up on that offer. Meet me at Magistrate's Court in twenty minutes. Yes, immediately. This can't wait, people's lives depend on it!" Pulling the phone down, he clicked it off the phone and set it aside.  
  
"Oh this is a classic, isn't it, John? So all we need to do now is see which one they were on..."

 

Listening, John did his best to pick out everything he could from Sherlock's conversation with the attorney. From what pieces he could gather, it all made sense and was something that only Sherlock would be able to realize. Their date had taken a sudden turn and now they were back on a case, but oddly enough it wasn't surprising. One of the things that came with dating the consulting detective, he supposed. John waited until he was done with talking to Candor before resting against the desk behind him and looking up at Sherlock.

 

"They were all part of the jury for a court case..." he mused. Catching Sherlock's proud glance, he couldn't help but grin. "That's extraordinary." Shaking his head in bewilderment, he chuckled. He pushed himself on his toes and caught the quick upturn of his partner's mouth in a kiss. John finally pulled back, still smiling. "How the hell did you figure that out? There was never anything even mentioned about court cases."

 

Sherlock smiled in the way that only he could manage. "You're starting to pick up on a few things. Good. Glad to see my influence isn't being wasted on you." Leaning back, he stared out the window, his eyes starting to twinkle. Without another word, Sherlock's hand slid over to John's, their fingers intertwining.  
  
Arriving at Magistrate's Court moments later, Sherlock strode in through the building and quickly was directed to District Attorney Candor's public office, where he was expected. Stepping in, the man turned to Sherlock with expecting eyes. He was a fellow of modest height and not so modest appearance. His hair was slicked back, probably with some sort of high end product. On his wrist was a pricey, golden watch. He certainly had the money to afford the real thing. His suit was wrinkled though, meaning he had indeed left in a hurry. The tie hadn't even been tucked back into his pants. In any case, the "meeting" Sherlock must have been very casual indeed. He put his hands on his hips, hunching his shoulders forward.  
  
"So?" he said plainly. "What's so important that you had to interrupt my entire day?"  
  
"As District Attorney, you have a log of all recent case files brought to court within the last - let's say - three years?"  
  
Candor blinked, surprise on his face. "Well... yes. The state needs to keep track of these things, doesn't it?"  
  
"Brilliant. I need you to find the names Jeffrey Clemens, Tess Rika, Daniel Kantor and Maurice Brughah. They would have been jurors in a recent court case. Namely one surrounding homicide, most likely where the defendant was convicted."  
  
That had the man all the more confused. "Jurors...? Sherlock, I can't give you that information - "  
  
"They're dead, District Attorney, I hardly think this would be an invasion of privacy."  
  
"Dead-? My God."  
  
"The rest will follow if you don't act immediately. I need to know what case they were on."  
  
"Well..." The man scratched the back of his neck, turning to his computer. "I can try a search for you, but it won't be quick."  
  
"No matter. My friend and I can wait if necessary."  
  
"May take all afternoon."  
  
"Then so be it."  
  
Candor sighed, glancing between the two of them before sitting down at his computer. Smug and satisfied, Sherlock began taking off his gloves, ready to settle in for a long stay. That's when he and John caught eyes. A sudden jolt made him remember that they had started on a date of sorts. A half hour date, which of course was already over by now. Still...  
  
"Erm... I'll fetch some take away, shall I? There's some across the way and we may be here for a while..." He, of course, wouldn't eat (not when things were getting exciting) but at least he was able to take John into consideration.

 

While Sherlock and Candor were talking, John took the opportunity to scan the room. It was obvious that someone had been there with the District Attorney less than half an hour ago. The desk was slightly askew as well as everything on the desk itself was unorganized. Not to mention the look and way Candor was holding himself. His agitation was more than what the typical person held against Sherlock, no matter how demanding he got. John had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. He doubted they would get much help if he did so.

 

Stretching, he rubbed at his leg absentmindedly. It didn't hurt anymore and the limp had been gone for a long time, but it was still a place he rested or massaged frequently, out of habit. Oddly enough, it calmed him. It seemed like they were going to be there a good while, at least until Candor could find the correct files. Some small voice reminded him that they were supposed to be on a date, but he found himself not really caring. The case was important, and despite it's interruption of things, it was actually interesting and he was enjoying himself. Casting a sideways glance at Sherlock he caught his gaze. The question caught him a bit off guard and he found himself chuckling.

 

"That's fine, really." he replied. "I can eat once we're all done here." He also wasn't too keen to stay in the office with just Candor. The man was no threat, but like anyone else he was much more likely to follow Sherlock's instructions better than his. The last thing that they needed was to get in a row with an attorney. John shared a small smile with Sherlock, "Anyways, this date is more us. Four murders and purely relying on juror files and that incredible brain of yours to solve it? I wouldn't want to miss this at all." Reaching out, he took the consulting detective's hand in his own and gave it a small squeeze. "And someone has to keep you company during the boring parts."

 

Candor, having sat down to find what Sherlock needed, paused at John's commentary. He gave quite a curious look to the two of them, his eyes quite clearly relaying the message of: "well I always _suspected_ but..." Sherlock, catching the look, cocked an inquisitive brow. Quickly, Candor returned to his screen, trying to ignore the quite clear gay couple in the room now. A little tedious smile came to Sherlock's lips. How quaint.  
  
"I'd keep those thoughts to yourself," he said plainly. Candor turned to him, face squished.  
  
"Come on! How can you possibly know what I was _thinking?_ "  
  
"Let he without sin cast the first stone, Mr. Candor. Or isn't that how the saying goes?"  
  
"Look, I don't care who you bugger, Mr. Holmes. But would you mind keeping a low profile in my office?"  
  
"Oh? I suppose the quota of buggery for the day in this office has already been filled by a 5'4" lady with red hair and fuchsia lipstick. Just how tall is your wife again?"  
  
Candor's face lit up like a Christmas tree. Rather than try to deny it, or demand how Sherlock figured it out, he went back to typing, muttering something about making deals with devils. Sherlock shrugged it off and turned to John. "Well, I'll at least have someone fetch us a cup of tea while we wait."

 

This time John couldn't help but laugh lightly, his body bouncing as he tried to stay silent. It was actually quite endearing how quickly Sherlock had cut Candor down from saying anything. They didn't actively tell people about their relationship, but they didn't make attempts to really hide it at this point.

 

"It's fine, I got it." Looking over at Candor, he smiled mockingly. "Do you know where I can find some tea for my boyfriend and I?" Usually, they didn't even use the term "boyfriends", it sounded too simple and like something that a teenager has instead of an adult. But Candor was being too much of an arse not to at least give him a difficult time.

 

Instead of responding, the District Attorney simply looked up coldly from his laptop and jammed a thumb to the right. John only raised an eyebrow in confusion, only making the man flush a deeper shade of red. "Outside to the right. My secretary can get you some from there." he finally muttered through grit teeth.

 

"Ta." John nodded and made his way outside.

 

A couple minutes later John came back with a tray balancing two cups in one hand. Sitting back down, he handed one of the cups to Sherlock and took the other for himself before slipping the tray underneath his seat. Taking a sip, he took a deep breath and looked over at his partner. "Anything yet?" he asked quietly.

 

"Why yes," Candor said rather loudly, hacking away at his keyboard. "In the ten minutes it took you to get a cuppa, I've found the exact case those four dead people were jurors for, and Sherlock has already stopped the murderer-!"  
  
"Don't be facetious, Mr. Candor. At this point it comes off as little more than petty." Sherlock, seating himself comfortably in the guest chair, was thumbing though the booklet of poisons he'd thought to take with him on their "date." "Two sugars, please," he told John calmly, having yet to look up from its pages. "The faster you search, Mr. Candor, the quicker we'll be out of your hair."  
  
"I can only go so fast, Mr. Genius!"  
  
"Mocking me will only make time go slower. I'd suggest otherwise."  
  
They ended up staying quite a while. Sherlock insisted that Candor be quite thorough. But finally, after endless hours of waiting, Candor finally found the case they needed. "Found it. Jeffrey Clemens, Tess Rika, Daniel Kantor and Maurice Brughah were all jurors for the Kripton case."  
  
Standing immediately, Sherlock went to his side, staring at the case file. He read aloud. "'Defendant: Daniel Kripton. Convicted of premeditated homicide of Elizabeth Kripton, spouse.' How did she die?"  
  
"Erm..." Candor slid down the file a bit. "He hung her, apparently..."  
  
"Oh... Now that is interesting..." Standing, Sherlock tapped his fingers along his book of pathogens. "Mr. Candor? I need the names of the remaining eight jurors."  
  
The attorney sighed. "Sorry, this is where I draw the line." Closing his laptop, Candor stood and fixed his coat. "I can't give those to you, Mr. Homles."  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes loudly. "Come now, must I do all the work myself?"  
  
"I'm serious. I really, truly can't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It's bloody illegal, that's why not!" He turned to John, helplessly. "Look, you're his lover or whatever - talk some sense into him!"

 

Standing up, John made his way over to the table and scanned the files quickly. He took his partner's hand absentmindedly and rubbed small circles on the back of it. It was a lot of information, but hardly enough. Sighing, he looked over at the District Attorney. "Look, a lot of our work requires some legalities to be changed. And I really believe that you would rather be dealing with showing people for a case files instead of 8 more deaths."

 

Looking at Sherlock, he raised an eyebrow, doing his best to look stern, but his eyes shone with a teasing light. "And can you not snap at and degrade the person we actually need to help us here?"

 

"Please. I've called Lestrade worse things and I like him far better."  
  
"Regardless of who likes who," Candor said sharply. "I cannot give you those names."  
  
"Then you're damning those people to be murdered."  
  
"It's not my jurisdiction."  
  
"Really. Trying to save lives doesn't fall under your list of responsibilities, does it?"  
  
"Look, I want to help you. I really do, but I can give you anything and everything you need that doesn't fall under things that could get me arrested."  
  
Sherlock held his tongue after that. The two stared one another down like a pair of dogs, ready to rip each other's throats out. But in the end, Sherlock was the one who backed down. Shaking his head, he folded his arms and leaned against the wall, impatiently. "Fine," he snapped. "Then give me everything else. Every detail, every single person that was there. I also want excessive details on the defendant. Who his closest friends and family were."  
  
Candor sighed and went back to his computer, pulling up what was needed.

 

John stayed where he was and watched for a couple moments to make sure neither of them snapped before tentatively returning to his seat. Trying to make either of the men listen was practically useless. To top it off, it was getting late and Candor would eventually get tired and make them leave. The sooner they got what they needed, the better.

 

They stayed like that for what felt like an endless amount of time. Sherlock, sometimes leaning against the wall and others pacing the room as he thought and Candor clicking, dragging and typing away, leaving John with only his thoughts and the silence to keep him company in the room that sparked with tension. Finally, the doctor came out of his thoughts and looked out the window. The sun was now setting, but Sherlock hadn't tired in the least. Not the same could be same for the arrogant District Attorney. His eyes were heavy with boredom and annoyance, but he was obviously reaching his ending point for the night. John was about to suggest to continue this another time when he saw a flash of emotion cross Candor's face. Worry? Perhaps, but guilty as well. The man had something to hide, then. Narrowing his eyes curiously, John stood up and made his way to the desk.

 

"What is it?" he immediately stated. There was no need for formalities or pretenses at that point and John was too fed up with him to care.

 

John didn't get a response until he repeated the question, more sternly this time and causing Candor to shift uncomfortably. "It's nothing."

 

"Obviously it's something, and it looks like it's important too, so I suggest you tell us. If you don't these people will die and you'll be left with their blood on your hands."

 

Candor huffed and stood, having printed out the last of it. "I said it was nothing." Sherlock narrowed his eyes a bit as the attorney went to his printer. "Here." Now frustrated and tired, he shoved the papers into Sherlock's arms. "Is this _all_ you'll be needing?"  
  
"Hm." Sherlock mused over the huge stack of paperwork before setting it all aside. "You sure that's everything?"  
  
"Every bloody document."  
  
"Every bit of evidence, every noteworthy detail?"  
  
"Everything that the case had to do with, yes!" He nearly flipped something over he was so aggravated. Granted, having just been pulled out of an entire day's schedule to do someone else's work on a whim would have aggravated anyone, but just as John noticed a moment before, there was something off. However, with amazing restraint, Sherlock didn't comment on it. Rather, he smiled, folding the papers up in a neat little binder before tucking them under his arm.  
  
"Well then. I guess we'll be off. John?" Turning on his heel, Sherlock lead his blogger and lover out of the office and into the lift that lead to the lobby below. Sherlock cocked a brow at the man beside him, a hint of a smile on his lips. "You're getting more observant. Well done. Tell me, what was it you noticed that was off about Candor near the end? What made you speak out?"

 

"He was looking through his files, and he saw something that made him stop- something that bothered him. It doesn't take much to notice that it surrounded the case, and his face said it all. There's something he's keeping from us." John shrugged as he pressed the lobby button and the elevator lurched into motion. Catching Sherlock's gaze, he noticed the small smile. "What?"

 

Chuckling, John waited for a response and only got that strange smile again. They slipped out of the elevator when it opened up and headed outside. Waving down a cab, he climbed in and held the door open until Sherlock followed. Running a hand through his hair, he nodded to the cabbie awkwardly. "Er- 221 B Baker St." he told him. Turning back to his partner, he waited until the driver was focused on the road to lean close and press a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips. He sighed and pulled back after a moment, smirking.

 

"You knew he was hiding something, didn't you? Alright, come on out with it, what did you do?"

 

Sherlock chuckled, his elbow against the door. "There wasn't much to notice, really. While Candor was pulling up his files, I pulled up some of my own." Pulling out his phone, he thumbed through some of the open tabs. "Turns out, Candor's law partner Jacob Phillis headed the case. Any bad news we might find that would damage his partner's career might damage his own. If the affair wasn't enough to do that, of course." He tossed his phone to John's hands, before thumbing though the pages in his lap. "Like an idiot, he doesn't even know if he should hide something to keep us from finding. Typical paranoia of a man in power..."  
  
They arrived at 221B in no time at all, and soon were back up in their flat. Sherlock spread the new pages along the desk before starting to look over them. "Alright. The first thing we need is to see just who this defendant was. What was his career, who were his close friends and family members. If he was convicted, someone must be doing this for revenge. The question is who."

 

John shouldered off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of his chair. "Candor is the least of our worries. He's an political airhead, but he's easily intimidated. Well, by you at least." Walking into the kitchen after Sherlock, he filled himself a glass of water before sitting on the counter. He watched Sherlock study the papers with mild interest. Night had fallen over London and John knew that if the consulting detective sat down to start on those papers now, he wouldn't be sleeping.

 

"I'm sure Daniel Kripton is a murderer who's just up your alley." he muttered, swinging his legs absentmindedly. "If there's anyone close to him, we can probably find them using the Yard's files, Lestrade's more lenient than Candor at least." Popping off the counter, John walked over to where all the papers were spread and began neatly filing them back into the binder. "But, all that can wait until tomorrow. If you start now you won't finish and you won't sleep. We're not doing a repeat of that." he chided. "Also, if I remember correctly you mentioned something about a 'good night's sleep'?" Shaking his head in amusement, he kissed Sherlock gently. "The case isn't going anywhere and you won't get much done without those connections. Anyways, you've been working all day, how about some rest now?"

 

Sherlock sighed. "Rest, how can you think about _rest?_ Look here." He pulled up a paper, pointing at the text. "According to the court transcript, Kripton killed his wife by a hanging. Our killer is clearly some sort of devoted lover or minion of the man, and has been taking revenge by doing the same. Only they haven't been able to make the victims die of an actual hanging. That insists on two possible solutions: 1) the killer was not physically strong enough to actually hang their targets, or 2) the killer was smart enough to know it would be far easier to add the hanging as part of a show, rather than the real cause of death. To be honest? I think it's both.  
  
"Now the pathogen, that's where this gets interesting." Sherlock pulled up his handbook of poisons, finding the page he earmarked. "When the weather gets colder and you get a little nip in your throat, it tends to get a little scratchy. Typical Streptococcus is a simple disease, contagious, easy to understand, but hardly deadly. Unless someone was able to chemically engineer a similar virus to exacerbate the symptoms a thousand times over, causing almost immediate asphyxiation as the throat closes. So who - might I ask - would have that level of knowledge, access to the tools needed, _and_ be a lover in Daniel Kripton's life?" Reaching out, he pulled up a page of the transcript and circled a name with a pen.  
  
"Dr. Kristin Crenshaw. Mr. Kripton was of course the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company, after all. Dr. Crenshaw, as she testifies here, is Kripton's top researcher. Of course, she testifies for all of five minutes and isn't even insinuated within the case as being Kripton's lover, meaning she's a clever girl who covers her tracks. But oh... oh, oh, oh..."  
  
Throwing his head back, Sherlock clasped his hands together. "Oh John, I adore it! Love! Love is such a _vile_ chemical defect, found only in the _stupidest_ members of the human population who are driven by heart's desire to let natural selection take its proper place in the universe!"

 

John had been listening intently with a mixture of awe and excitement, at least until the consulting detective had decided to give his two cents on love. "Then I suppose that makes me a cracking idiot, hmm?" he snapped. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but Sherlock had just insulted him. It wasn't as if he had never done it before, but this time was different. "I mean, I'm not even listening to the laws of natural selection- falling in love with a _man_ the way I am."

 

They stood in a cold silence, John simply staring as the tension became almost tangible. Exhaling slowly though his nose, he looked up at Sherlock wearily. "Look, I didn't mean to shout. I'm sorry." he eventually muttered. It was an empty apology, but it was still due. "It's getting late and it's been a long day. I'm going to bed." he stated. It was still early in the night; the clock read a quarter past 9, but that didn't matter. The last thing he wanted to do was stay and wait for the detective to respond, and more importantly try to deduce his emotions.

 

Pushing himself away from the table, John sighed and made his way upstairs. Most nights, he spent them with Sherlock in the bedroom below, but it was easier if he just went to his own room.

 

Sherlock lifted his head, a little caught off guard. As John stormed off upstairs, Sherlock tried to call to him. "Wait, I didn't mean-!" But John wouldn't hear it. He watched, helplessly, as his lover stormed away, leaving Sherlock to himself in the darkened living room.

 

John changed into his bedclothes and slipped beneath the covers. He was fully aware that he wouldn't get any sleep, he was still too frustrated. There was a sense of hurt as well, but he wasn't willing to admit it. It didn't make sense, what else could he have expected from Sherlock? The man had never made any claims of love otherwise. Forcing his eyes to close, he did his best to shut out the days events and just relax.

 

Sherlock stared at the work before him. Well... Lestrade could wait a night for Sherlock to do his work for him. Taking a breath, the detective turned and marched up the stairs to John's room. Peeking through the crack. The man was already in bed, turned away from the door. Sherlock felt his heart droop. He hadn't meant John, truly. But he supposed insulting love meant insulting anyone and everyone who utilized such a word. Including himself.  
  
Slowly, Sherlock stepped into the bedroom, slipping his shoes off along the way. Without a word, the tall man padded his way into John's bed, sliding easily beneath the sheet. An arm wrapped itself around John's waist, that curly hair bouncing up behind John's army cut. He was silent for a moment, his own hand finding the doctor's. There, their fingers intertwined and Sherlock held it to John's chest.  
  
"You know what I meant," he said softly. "I get carried away when I solve a case." That wasn't technically an apology. Sherlock caught himself, cleared his throat, and decided to start again. Leaning his head forward, he set his lips against John's neck. His heart was elevated. He could feel a slight tremor in his hand. His jaw was tight. My goodness, John was so angry. When was the last time he was this upset? Sherlock didn't have to ponder that for long. Removing his lips, he lifted his head and tried to gain eye contact.  
  
"It's true though. Maybe not about you specifically, although I can think of a number of occasions where your emotions have betrayed you." Pulling John's hand up, he gently kissed his knuckles, eyes closing. "And it's certainly true for me." Those pure, clearwater eyes stared sincerely down from his pointed face. "I've done some... very stupid things for love." He didn't have to remind John of what. That fall was something that haunted both of them. Probably until the end of their days.

 

Laying in a still silence, John did his best to forget the day and force himself to calm down. The more rational part of him reminded him not to be mad at the man. He was on a case after all, and he had never enjoyed emotions, especially love. Yet John had always been under the impression that at least that idea had changed slightly. Burying his face in his pillow, he shifted and slid until he was more comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could be. He was finally beginning to unwind when he heard the shuffling and movement downstairs stop. Damn it. Groaning in annoyance, John moved to face the wall, shutting his eyes. If he was careful, he could try to convince Sherlock he was asleep.

 

Soon enough though, he felt the bed shift as someone slipped in beside him and an arm drape over him. John tried to keep still, but kept his body unwound enough to make it look like he was out. He could feel Sherlock's mess of hair tickle the nape of his neck, and he pursed his lips to keep from smiling. A hand wound around his and drew him close. John knew that he hadn't exactly reacted out of line, but the subtle gestures were enough to make him feel guilty. He was still angry though, even the press of lips didn't take that away completely. Giving up, John opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's intense blue ones staring down on him.

 

John listened in stubborn silence as he heard the detective explain himself quietly. As usual, his words were fluid and enough to calm him down. His hand tightened involuntarily the second Sherlock referenced that day at St. Bart's. They barely spoke of it now, it had happened years ago. It was still too raw of a subject, and the fact that it was no being explained as an action of love made the more difficult.

 

"Shut up, I'm still supposed to be mad at you." he finally mumbled. Moving slightly, he curved himself further against Sherlock. It was hard to get in arguments with someone who was rarely wrong and always knew what to say. Sighing in defeat, he tilted his head back far enough to press a kiss to his partner's jawline. "I should've just let you go back to your case...I'm sorry. Go work, it's fine." Despite his reassurance, the last thing he wanted Sherlock to do was leave.

 

"But you're right. I've let love change some of my decisions. I don't regret it though. I think I've made some of my best choices because of 'sentiment'. For example, waiting for you."

 

Sherlock's gentle, secretive smile appeared on his lips. The one that he would only allow John to see. Leaning his head down, their noses touched softly. "A decision I personally am very thankful for..." He began to pet John's hair with his free hand, now nearly on top of the man. They shared a few more kisses, the silence of the moment enough to calm any angry feelings that existed before. When their final kiss broke, Sherlock barely moved his lips away. "And what work is there to be done, really? Tracking her? That's hardly anything exciting..." His thumb ran along the wrinkles beneath John's eye. "Lestrade can handle it..." Foreheads together, a twinkle came to Sherlock's eye and he smiled.  
  
"Besides... I do believe we missed our lunch. I'm absolutely famished." Sitting up on his knees, he brought John in close, arms around his waist. Again they shared a kiss, their legs bent on either side of their bodies. "It's still early. Chinese take-away is still delivering.”

 

Leaning forward, John pressed a kiss against Sherlock's collarbone, nudging away the fabric of his shirt so that he could get at the taunt skin there. He wrapped his arms around his partner's neck, one hand winding into his mess of curls. "Did you actually just call a case unexciting? Wow, you really are sorry." Chuckling, he bent over and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's neck, letting his lips linger. He always found it interesting how well they fit together despite the differences in their body types. Tugging on the man's hair gently, he pulled away to look at him better. "I'm not complaining, though. I think I could used to getting to holding you like this."

 

Looking over at his bedside watch, he realized it _was_ still pretty early, like Sherlock had confirmed. As if on cue, his stomach gave a slight rumble. "Take-away sounds fantastic about right now. Only if you eat something too though." he said, looking hopefully at the detective. It was a long shot, but he did need to eat eventually.

 

John grinned as he kissed the man on his lap before carefully unwinding himself and slipping off the bed. Pulling open the drawer he dug through it until he found the paper with the number for take-away. He picked up his pants that he had discarded earlier and got his phone and dialed the number. "Hi, can I get an delivery order? Yeah....221B Baker St....I'll have Chicken Pad Thai..." Turning over to Sherlock, he raised an eyebrow. "What do you want?" he asked, holding a hand over the receiver.

 

"I'm not too picky," Sherlock said leisurely. Walking forward, he wrapped his long, lanky arms around John's shoulders, holding him there from behind. "Anything you want is fine..." After all, his work on this case was done. In the morning, he'd hand off his findings to Lestrade in a big red ribbon and call it a day. As John ordered, Sherlock decided to pour on the affection just a tad. His nose nuzzled sweetly against the man's neck, his hands every so often rubbing fondly against the front of his pajama top. Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock was not adverse to human interaction. Only when that human earned it, of course. When the food was ordered, they made their way to the living room and waited. There really wasn't much place to eat - 221B after a case was like a mid-western American town after a tornado. Complete chaos. They'd make due with a couple of trays.

 

Settling on the sofa, he brought John in between his legs, holding him close. "Hm..." His fingers ran gently along the side of John's body, feeling the muscle definition beneath. "You've been exercising lately. Namely abdominal routines, if I'm not mistaken. It's far more defined than usual. Heh..." Slipping his hand beneath John's pajama trousers, he felt the firm buttock beneath it and gave it a squeeze. "Not like any other area needs help..."

 

Blushing awkwardly at the compliment, John leaned back to kiss his lover's neck. He had to strain his head backwards to do so, and he found that sitting in Sherlock's lap facing him was much more comfortable. There wasn't much time in the day or lately in general that they had the chance to just be together without running about on a case. Gently undoing the first few buttons of Sherlock's shirt, he kissed the hollow of his neck there. "I don't go out of my way to keep the soldier's physique I used to, but staying toned and in shape never hurt anyone." he murmured against the detective's chest. He felt nimble fingers press against his arse, making his back arch slightly.

 

"It's nice to know you approve though," he managed to gasp, the sarcasm in his intonation faltering. John's lips sought out those of the man's below him. Kissing him slowly but fully, he traced the contours of Sherlock's chest with his free hand. "You're still as lean and gorgeous as ever." he commented. Sliding a hand beneath the man's thigh he felt the strong muscle there as well. "And I highly doubt you're in need of any help in that area."

 

Soon enough, their kisses progressed and John was straddling him- one hand on Sherlock's hip and the other wound in his hair. A tongue darted between lips, but a sharp ring from the doorbell downstairs cut off his train of thought. Sighing, the doctor gently removed himself from Sherlock's lap and made his way to the door. "And I'm guessing that's our food." John did his best to fix the mess of his hair and clothing before opening the door with a shy smile. Their deliverer was obviously not fooled and he settled for awkwardly paying the young man and exchanging the money for food and carrying it in one hand.

 

Heading back into the living room, John found Sherlock where he had left him sprawled on the couch. "You need to eat something, especially if you plan on staying up all night with me." he chided. Setting the bag down on the coffee table, he rummaged through it until he found a box labeled 'Chicken Kung Pao' and handed it to the consulting detective. Taking his own carton of Pad Thai he settled between Sherlock's legs once more.

 

Sherlock couldn't help himself. Being with John, ignoring the world around him, he didn't do it often enough. So, when John settled himself back in, Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist, sitting there comfortably as any man would a thick arm chair. He chuckled against John's cheek, loving the feeling of his body in between his thighs. With one arm around his shoulders, Sherlock reached forward and took a random box, and the plastic fork that came with it, in order to feed himself. His work must have truly been done, because he found himself rather starving.

 

They ate on the couch in good company. Outside, the night grew longer, and soon they had a roaring fire to keep them toasty. They found themselves sitting side by side eventually, the two coddling against one another. Sherlock's arm was around John's shoulders, an empty box in one hand. His big, bare feet rested against the edge of the table. Out of boredom, he flexed his toes against the light of the fire.

 

"...It got to the point where Mycroft and I would test one another. Purposefully pretending to buy something completely different than what our actual presents were. We've always been so competitive... I always won, of course." Sherlock paused. "Well. Usually, anyway." He tossed the empty box aside and then rested his chin on top of John's hair. "That's how it was until I went to boarding school, anyway." He chuckled to himself. "I think that was the last year we ever got each other anything for Christmas." He didn't often talk about his past, let alone his childhood. Whatever had been said about Mycroft in the past was short, sweet, and to the point. But he and John seemed to have made it a night of nothing important. It would have been a rather dull affair, had John not been the man sitting at his side.

 

John let his partner continue talking, telling him stories. Despite how annoying Sherlock could get once he began rambling, John always loved listening to him talk, especially in situations like these. He knew so little about the man's past. Setting his own empty carton aside he tilted his head upward and pressed a light kiss to Sherlock's jawline. It was a rarity for them to be so affectionate, and John found himself cherishing it.

 

"When Christmas rolls back around, why don't you invite him over?" he realized that it most likely wouldn't happen given Mycroft's reluctance to personal affairs. He always seemed to find some political issue at the last moment. John couldn't help but give him credit that he never fell through. After Sherlock's fall, he had diligently worked to clear his name.

 

Smirking, John curled his feet beneath him as he rested his head on Sherlock's chest. "Then again, the one Christmas we spent together wasn't exactly the best. You got us 'escorted' out a store by the police after telling Father Christmas you wanted a murder and then the whole ordeal with Irene didn't help much that night either." Catching the detective's weary glance, he sighed and softened his voice. "Still one of the most exciting Christmases I've ever had." he murmured. Pushing himself up a bit, he leaned to kiss Sherlock gently. They was in no rush, both of them simply enjoying the other's warmth and company.

 

Sherlock turned, managing to catch his lips in a kiss. "Well whose fault was that? You insisted that it would be 'cute' of me to go ask a store worker in a fake beard for something. So I asked for what I really wanted." Turning, he pressed John down into the sofa cushions, wriggling himself into a comfortable position laying along his body. Leaning in, he laid a few kisses on his neck, gently nuzzling his nose deeper into its crux. "Mmm..." His eyes closed. He loved the smell of the man. He never wore much as far as cologne was concerned, but there was always a faint aftershave scent on his body at least every other day. John did like to keep himself trimmed.  
  
Tilting his head a bit, he unbuttoned a few top shirt buttons and laid kisses down his chest. The little hairs along his pectorals tickled his lips and chin. It only added to the pleasure of it all. Opening his shirt up a bit more, Sherlock rested one side of his face against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart, his eyes now on the bullet wound. A harsh memory returned to him.  
  
 _"I can stop John Watson, too. Stop his heart."_  
  
Sherlock tensed at the memory, his hands tightening on John's shoulders. Picturing the man in that coat, a bomb strapped to his body, the detective went deadly silent, keeping his firm grip on the man. As if he was afraid John would slip from his very fingers like sand.

 

John felt the grip on his shoulder's tighten, and Sherlock go still. He could feel a thumb pressed against the puckered skin of his scar, but otherwise, the detective was immobile. "Sher...?" he asked carefully. Leaning back, he tried to get a better look at him. His eyes were open and he didn't seem to be in any pain. John could obviously tell he was breathing from the slight rise and fall against his chest. Sighing, he kissed Sherlock's jaw again, trying to coax him to snap out of it."What's going on?" he murmured gently.

 

John waited until his eyes came back into focus, breaking from their foggy stare. "Look, whatever it is, it's over now. You're fine and so am I." he reassured. Most of the time Sherlock didn't share stories, especially about things that were bothering him. So he found it easier to just keep him calm, lying against him.

 

Sherlock, blinking down at the man, slowly nodded. “Yes... It's all fine. Isn't it?” A smile creeping back to his lips, the detective once more found John's own, the two of them quickly descending into a world of passion. Sherlock's nimble hands stripped John of his clothes, his own following suit. Thankfully, they still had a bottle of jelly from their last romp about the living room (Mrs. Hudson still chastises them for the mess now and again), and Sherlock grabbed it from under their couch. Lit by the trickling light of the fire, Sherlock began to coat his penis with lube, his eyes trailing every detail of the man beneath him. A chuckle barely left his lips.

 

“You've been trimming.” He let his fingertips trail along the recently cut pubic area. Not enough to shave, but just enough upkeep to condense the bush of hair to a small, controlled area. “Keen on showing off, are we?”

 

“Oh shut it,” John grumbled, his cheeks notably red. “Not everyone gets perfectly grown hair from the get-go.”

 

That had Sherlock laughing. “You're jealous of my pubic hair?”

 

“Look, you've already got those bloody springs on your head. The rest of your hair doesn't need to be so damn perfect.”

 

That had Sherlock laughing. Hard. Falling against the side of the couch, he clutched his stomach, realizing that he hadn't laughed like this in quite some time. In fact... he strained to think of the last time he _did_ laugh like this. Certainly not in his childhood. Not at uni. Racking his brains, he could only ever think of his times with John. That, above all else, just made him happier.

 

Lowering himself, he eventually found his way inside. Even after all this time, John was still so firm and tight. Sherlock reveled in the feeling. Down below, John's face was a mixture of pleasure and pain, his lips parting wider with every slow thrust. Sherlock entrapped those lips, that silver tongue of his worming its way into John's mouth. The lingering taste of mandarin spices began to mix between them. Leaving the kiss unbroken, Sherlock picked up speed against the man's body. A sigh escaped his nose, their skins sweetly slapping together with every movement. John turned away only to gasp for air, his fingers digging themselves into Sherlock's shoulders.

 

“Sher... Sherlock...” Kisses flew by like mad. Their blood pumped faster and far more hot, sweat starting to drip from the skin in pinpricks. Grabbing John's thighs, Sherlock pushed forward, practically folding him in half. As he swayed, his eyes lingered on the man's face below. There, with their bodies shaking the couch below them, Sherlock knew a most basic fact about his dearest friend. One that he would never admit to anyone but himself.

 

John was the most precious thing in his life.

 

No case, no mystery, no puzzle, however thrilling, would ever compete. He realized that in between the throws of his hips. How sweetly John's voice sounded every time he called out. Or how his skin crawled when those nails trailed down his back. Lost in a sea of lust and love, Sherlock knew that every curiosity in all the world combined would be meaningless alone. As they came to their final, lasting orgasm together, Sherlock knew how empty his life would have been if John had never walked into Saint Bart's that day. Finally curling up together for sleep, Sherlock locked his arms around John, the sound of the fire crackling around them. Soon enough, the detective drifted away to get the best night's sleep he'd had in a long, long time.


End file.
